


The Ties That Bind: Book One - Genesis

by MadMadameEm



Series: The Ties That Bind [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Feels, Coming of Age, Dysfunctional Family, Exploration, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Pack Family, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMadameEm/pseuds/MadMadameEm
Summary: Life in Shattrath after the closing of the Dark Portal? Hard. Being at the mercy of the Burning Legion? Harder. Helping to raise the crossbreed child of your dead lover she had with another man while probably being the one and only troll in all of Outland? May the Light and Loa help us all...
Series: The Ties That Bind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554292
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. In the Beginning...

**Author's Note:**

> First story and chapter for the Ties that Bind series that I am planning! Hope you enjoy the first chapter!

### Chapter 1: In the Beginning...

He hated Shattrath. He really did.

The weather was usually dismal and predictable: humid, sticky air and an overcast sky. He couldn't leave permanently, the presence of the Burning Legion just outside the crumbling walls made it too dangerous. He didn't know anyone very well, and those he did were not exactly what he would consider friends. Time had become irrelevant, and the days so mundane that they had long ago begun to bleed into one another. He didn't remember how long he'd been there or when he'd arrived. Even the memory of how he'd accidentally fallen into freaking Outland was sketchy.

To make up for his fading past, he'd occasionally try to do something with himself and briefly enter whatever social circles were available. The memories and reputation he'd made for himself in the city weren't exactly pleasant ones.

He drank: enough to where some would call it 'excessive'. He considered it enough to help maintain whatever amount of sanity he had left. He brawled: sometimes as a healthy challenge or bet, others as a release of some unknown rage, and occasionally joining in on bar fights to be one with the crowd. He…enjoyed the company of women. (At least, he did, until Vana'jia up and left him.)

He was also the only troll…well technically. She had been half-troll, but that didn't really count. And after years of staring into faces that were nowhere near his own, the feeling of isolation was beginning to settle in and the high crumbling walls of the city seemed to be closing in on him.

He had become moody, antisocial, self-centered, and cynical; ultimately, he had become nothing like the troll he was once upon a time or at least remembered to be. And he was beginning to feel disgusted with himself…

Zebodah hated Shattrath.

____

Riskkaf loved Shattrath. Who wouldn't?

He had been one of the first of the arakkoa to take refuge in the quite large and homey city, seeing it as a much better alternative to what he had left behind. The draenei had been wary at first, and that had made Riskkaf like them even more as it meant they had good sense, but gradually came to be kind and hospitable.

He helped where he could to earn his keep, be it patching up a new batch of refugees or using his magic to create new protective wards, and in turn gained respect among his neighbors and friends. Mial, the sweet and motherly priest who ran an inn of sorts, had been one of his first friends, and always made sure he was never hungry, occasionally visiting him in his own humble abode. He had grown quite fond of her and repaid her kindness by making sure her establishment was always in good repair and had enough supplies.

Riskkaf had even managed to make a comrade out of Zebodah, the usually disagreeable troll who resided just next door to his own cozier roost, by roping him into some odd quest or another outside the walls for arcane materials necessary for his work. Many ambushes, invoking ancestors, cursing, and, once, a very charred Zebodah usually accompanied their adventures. And no matter how many times the taller being swore never to sell his services again, Riskkaf was certain he found some joy in their exploits (even though he would never openly admit).

When he wasn't out on an escapade or doing some designated task, Riskkaf would spend his time in his home nestled among scrolls and books reading or studying new magic. The draenei had much to offer, and he had giddily accepted their knowledge. All sorts of new spells and incantations, charms and transmutations had been opened to him, and the arakkoa had taken a deep breath and jumped right in. Any free moment was consumed in his house with his beak pressed into some new tome.

And that's where he would have been if Mial had not come knocking on his door in the middle of the night, requesting he come over immediately and not saying why. Because it was Mial, and because her expression nearly shrieked 'emergency', he had gone with her. Perhaps there had been some magical mishap that required his assistance? Excellent!

There was always something interesting to do or be found…

Riskkaf loved Shattrath.

____

Zebodah had been having one of the most fitful bouts of sleep he'd ever gotten in a long time. And an even rarer dream had been its escort.

He was standing on the beaches of Stranglethorn, and he could remember. Remember home, familiar faces, his Darkspear kin, good food, a warm fire…everything. He stood with his back to the village, looking out over the ocean and watching the sunset, but could hear laughter and voices and drums behind him. The aromas of smoke, incense, and cooking meats wafted in the air.

Even in his sleep, Zebodah could feel the unforgiving twinges of homesickness and loneliness. They ached, more than he cared to confess, but he was determined to savor this dream until the very end.

He stood there for what could have been forever or maybe a few scant seconds, when he felt a hand slowly clamp down on his shoulder and a powerful presence could be felt behind him. Everything else faded quickly to nothing and the dream world melted to shadows.

_A loa. And a Great one at that._

He didn't have to turn around or even ask to know; he just did. It had been a long time since Zebodah had felt them this close, but the company of a loa was impossible to forget. His devotion to them and their presence had been the greatest force keeping him from slipping completely into some twisted, desperate version of who he once was. They kept him from going mad…

But what were they doing here and now?

Zebodah's curiosity was soon sated when a voice suddenly overcame every one of his senses.

_"Ya bettah wake up, mon…" Dambala whispered to him in a low, almost teasing hiss, "Dere be someone I want ya ta meet…"_

The dream abruptly ended, and he sat up quickly as if someone had slapped him. His forehead smacked into something hard, and Zebodah slightly registered that there was a startled screech and then a thud. As his disorientation faded, and his head and heart began to hurt more, he could almost hear the Loa's chuckling in his ears.

A three-fingered hand reached up to rub the spot that had been hit, and Zebodah squeezed his eyes shut. The night was quiet and peaceful, almost a cruel contrast to the inner turmoil inside the troll. Did his dream really have to end so soon?

Something poked him in the shoulder, and he cracked his eyes open just in time to see Riskkaf timidly jab him again with a talon.

"Zebodah?" His usually raspy tones were further croaked into a whisper, "Are you alright?"

His already narrowed eyes zeroed in on the arakkoa, and his once relaxed features swiftly morphed into a scowl. "What'chu want, Riskkaf?"

There was an offended squawk, "Now there's no need to be rude! Is this how you treat all your visitors? Especially the ones whose heads you decide to gracefully bash with your own?"

"I don' get visitahs. Now get talkin' or get out."

Sharp and intelligent eyes regarded him for a moment before answering, "Mial and I need your help."

"What does dat goody-goody, overbearin' she-priest want now?" He reclined back onto his elbows, gaze never leaving his unexpected houseguest.

"We have a…long-term…well, permanent…situation."

It was voiced as a question, as if the intruding bird didn't really know what to call the problem. Zebodah's brow quirked up; he was interested slightly…but not enough to get up.

"So?"

"Someone's ill –"

"I ain't no priest!" He spat the words out resentfully, as if they tasted rotten, "I don' heal! Why can't Mial be doin' it, or you? Ya be smart; either do it ya 'self or be findin' someone else. I canna help ya, so sorry." He dropped roughly onto his sleeping mat, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed, "Now leave me be." Maybe if he fell back asleep now, he could recapture that dream…

Had Zebodah's eyes had still been open they would have seen the brief flash of sadness and sympathy in Riskkaf's eyes: had his friend really become so empty inside that he did not wish to help someone in need in any way? He would have to correct the problem, perhaps another daring trip into Zangarmarsh for some rare plant. But any plans like that would have to wait: this was urgent.

"It isn't really a healer issue," Riskkaf pressed, unwavering in his task, "in fact, we may not need a healer at all. What we need is, well, a troll."

The hut was silent for a full minute, the arakkoa would know, he actually counted. At exactly 61 seconds, the silence was broken when Zebodah sat up slowly and stared at him with skeptical eyes.

"Eh?"

____

The night would have been completely dark were it not for the almost overwhelming brightness illuminating from the Terrace of Light in the distance and the occasional lantern or crystal here and there. Zebodah trudged behind Riskkaf, his tiredness setting in with every step. Soon, they reached a rather large building with many windows. It had more lights and ornaments than others, but did not overly stand out in any way.

The pair stopped, and Riskkaf looked over his shoulder at the troll before proceeding to the entrance. He didn't have to make their arrival known; because no sooner had they arrived did a draenei woman come running out to meet them. She was somewhat short for her kind, barely coming up to Zebodah's nose. Her horns curved up delicately, complimenting the loose bun her hair was in. She wore a simple dress, and no fine jewelry except for the necklace with a shimmering circle pendant that seemed to give off its own light.

Mial. The troll had to make a physical effort to keep from sneering. She was an optimistic, caring person who helped those she thought in need.

Which meant that she was always up in his business.

Always trying to tend to his bruises and broken knuckles after fights. Always trying to 'straighten up' his house. Always trying to shove something annoyingly nutritious down his throat.

Once, she'd even tried to give him a damn bath! That had not ended well…

If Mial could sense Zebodah's sour mood, she didn't show it, and instead hurried right over to Riskkaf and took his hands in her own.

"Thank you so much for doing this," she puffed out in a breathless voice. It was obvious the priestess had been frantic. A few strands of hair had fallen out of place and one shoulder of her dress had slipped down, her glowing eyes even appeared to emit panic.

"You know you don't have to thank us," Riskkaf gave her hands a gentle squeeze in his own gnarled ones.

At the mention of 'us', Mial cast a cautious glance at Zebodah. He caught her gaze and smirked, "Evenin' Mial."

She regarded him for a moment more before offering him a small smile, "Thank you, as well, Zebodah. I appreciate this more than you know."

His smirk fell and he huffed, "Don' thank me yet. What ya be wantin' me to do anyhow?"

Mial and Riskkaf exchanged glances, putting the troll immediately on guard. Something strange was going on…

The arakkoa was first to speak, "One of the, err, guests needs looking over."

A guest, huh? Dambala's words rang softly in his ears again: Dere be someone I want ya ta meet…

The shaman looked the draenei in the eye, "What kinda guest?"

Zebodah didn't know what to think.

He hadn't really been thinking much of anything up till now, but now he was at a complete loss.

"What be dat?"

Mial glared slightly and squeezed past the Darkspear who had stopped in the doorway, "She's not a 'what', she's a 'who'."

"Dis be a joke, right?" The troll looked back over to Riskkaf, looking for some semblance of humor in his face that would give him away. The stupid bird had a lopsided grin on his face, he did find this amusing but not in the way Zebodah was hoping for.

"This is not a joke," he gestured over to the bed placed next to the wall, "this is our guest."

"Some guest," the shaman snorted and made a point to look anywhere in the room except the small infant that squirmed on the mattress.

The baby was quite small, not even a full week old yet. Her brown skin was pale, hinting more that she had just been born. It would occasionally make a fussing noise and scrunch its tiny nose, as if uncomfortable in some way. But it wasn't the baby's skin or sounds of distress that caught Zebodah's attention.

Her ears were long and pointed, much like his. Very much like his…

Meaning that there was only one person who she could have come from.

"Vana'jia told me she left da babe with friends." Zebodah said this barely above a whisper, but the two others in the room still heard him.

Mial, who had sat down on the bed beside the child, looked up at him in surprise, "Vana'jia? The courtesan?" She looked back down at the infant, "Is that your mother, little one?" Her blue fingers brushed gently over the baby's soft cheeks and a small smile worked its way across Mial's face. She was precious.

The troll saw her grin and bitterness flashed in his heart, "Was her motha be more like it. Van be dead. Killed on a mission." A mission she went on for this little…thing.

Mial's smile vanished, replaced by a look of pity, "Oh..."

"So she's an orphan," Riskkaf, who had been silent and observing the situation up till now, finally spoke. "Unless, the father is still alive."

"Don' make no difference," Zebodah leaned casually against the doorframe and crossed his long arms. "Her livin' be against nature: shouldna' even exist."

_And yet the Loa were already acknowledging her._

The shaman was confused. He had known of Vana'jia's pregnancy before anyone else, before she even told the father. He'd even helped her at a few steps along the way. However, the Darkspear couldn't help but question why such a crossbreed was even allowed to be conceived. It shouldn't have been possible. But conceived she was, and then born without much trouble, and the spirits had been quiet on the whole matter.

But in their silence, Zebodah could feel them watching…waiting curiously to see what would happen.

And then they had spoken, and it had been Dambala first. Of all Loa, it had been him!

What the hell was going on?

His thoughts raged for a moment more before he realized that Mial and Riskkaf were staring at him. He glared at them between narrowed eyes, "What?"

The baby began to fuss again, this time more restlessly. Zebodah's scowl turned toward the child and intensified. Mial could almost feel the animosity radiating from the troll and she bristled. It was so much, and at such an innocent little person. She glared at him and moved to pick up the newborn. Mial had experience with babies, and cradled her gently to her chest; however, the shaman's eyes followed her every movement, harsh eyes never leaving the child.

Riskkaf could have cut the tension in the room with one of his talons. He moved between Zebodah and Mial, as if to act as a physical buffer, and waved a hand in front of the trolls face. His stare broke and he blinked quickly before turning his attention back to the other two adults, realizing they were still staring at him.

"What?" He asked again, this time more impatiently.

"You wouldn't…happen to know who the father is?"

The shaman raised a hairless brow, "Why?" He stood still for a moment before the answer hit him like a rock. Zebodah began choking on air and his eyes widened, taking a full step back. "Ya tink…dat I be da fatha?!"

The arakkoa made an amused cawing noise in his throat and tilted his head to the side curiously, "Well, are you?"

"O' course not!" Zebodah began to come back to his senses and was practically screaming, "What? 'Cause I be a troll, ya assume ahm da fatha? Look at her, she don' look a ting like me. I be green, and Vana'jia was blue; dis little-un got brown skin. She even got five fingahs an' toes!"

Riskkaf wasn't flustered by Zebodah's sudden outburst and simply shrugged, "Just curious. From what I remember you two were close."

"Now what's dat supposed ta mean?"

"Nothing, nothing." He held up his hands as if to play innocent, "Let's put that behind us, shall we? There's a sweet little girl who could use your help right about–."

The troll let out a mirthless laugh. "I ain't helpin'," he deadpanned.

Mial stood abruptly from the bed, cheeks flushing red and hugging the child closer to her breast. She stared at Zebodah in outrage and disbelief, "But, why not?"

"Why should I?"

"She is just a baby!"

"She be a bastard."

Both Riskkaf and Mial stared at him in shock. Even Zebodah seemed surprised at himself, breaking eye contact and staring at the floor. His expression softened and twisted slightly as a look of pained shame crossed his face. Had he really gotten so bitter?

The infant girl began to fuss more and then slowly started to cry because of all the commotion. Mial answered the call immediately and began to soothingly bounce the child and whisper sweet, calming nothings to her. Riskkaf turned his own attention to Zebodah.

"Say what you want," he rasped softly, "but that's still Van's little girl. If you're not going to do this for us, could you do it for her?"

The troll's shame left his face and he gave the arakkoa a withering look, "Don' be tryin' to play on dese heart strings now."

Riskkaf and Zebodah continued to stare at one another as the baby's cries faded, neither willing to be the one to break first. In the end, it was the shaman who lost. He sighed and turned his head to Mial, "Let me see 'er."

The priestess hesitated before finally walking over, regarding the troll distrustfully the whole time. She held the child out for both Zebodah and Riskkaf to see.

The baby's eyes were still tightly closed, and her little face would twitch occasionally. Its ears were indeed pointed, and the skin was still soft and tender, typical of a whelp. Her tiny lips were full, and her nose was small and round, but still slightly pointed. All three were due to the troll blood that ran from her little veins. She also had an impressively full head of bluish-black hair that sat silkily and in all directions atop her skull.

"Ya motha's locks," Zebodah whispered to himself as he reached out a hand to place on her forehead. The other he rested underneath Mial's arms as if to take the baby from her. He then closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, inwardly asking the spirits for guidance.

Riskkaf and Mial just watched him; not entirely knowing what he was doing and still recovering from the surprise of seeing him display such gentle actions. But the moment was fleeting, and just as soon as his hands were on the infant they were gone. Zebodah let out a breathy huff and turned to leave.

"She gonna be fine, just needs a spirit ritual is all," he said, "ta ward off anythin' bad. I can do dat tomorrow. See ya later."

Riskkaf was the first to recover, "Now wait just a moment." He moved right in front of the departing shaman, blocking his path. "You can't leave yet!"

The look the arakkoa got could've melted his face off, "Why not?"

"Why, we still haven't picked out a name. You didn't think we were going to call her "baby" or "it" forever, did you?"

Zebodah shrugged and scratched the back of his neck, "I dunno, mon. I be kinda fond o' 'it'."

Mial looked up from playing with the baby's fingers long enough to glower and Riskkaf let out an indignant squawk. "Now that's not very nice! I'm sure between the three of us, we can pick out a lovely name."

Mial scrunched up her nose, "The three of us?"

The Darkspear rolled his eyes, "We trolls don' just 'pick out' a name, even though she ain't really a troll. Da spirits speak to us and be givin' us our titles."

The draenei woman looked back down at the now sleeping infant in her arms, "Are they telling you anything about her?"

"Dey ain't 'ere now," he responded flatly, "leave a message, and mebbeh dey get back to ya in da mornin'."

"How about Rashida…or Oriana?" Riskkaf prattled on excitedly as if he didn't hear the troll's sarcasm.

Zebodah snorted good-naturedly and smirked, "What good be her name if she canna say it? Or even spell it?"

"Zafirah?"

"Nah."

"Riskkafa!"

"Really, mon?"

"Nadia."

The priestess had not spoken up much till now, and her sudden strong and sure interjection caused both men to look over at her. The expression she had on her face was one of peace and adoration as she looked down at the baby girl in her arms, "Her name is Nadia."

Riskkaf tapped a talon to his chin thoughtfully, "Hmm…good use of the letter 'A', easy to spell, very original and noteworthy…I like it." He lightly and affectionately patted the baby's head, "Welcome to the family, little Nadia!"

Zebodah raised a hairless brow, "What kinda name be 'Nadia'."

"It means 'hope'." She smiled softly when the infant opened her mouth and yawned, "We could use some of that during these times."

"'Hope', huh? Dere be no otha name with a mo'…realistic meanin'?"

"Well, there is one I know that means 'quiet and tranquil', so I suppose –."

"Quiet an' tranquil?" The shaman let out a laugh, this one less harsh than the last, "Dis girly is gonna be anythin' but, I jus' know it!"

Mial's smile turned more crooked and teasing, "For once, I agree with you."

Zebodah sighed and slumped against the wall in defeat, "Nadia it be den…"

The woman smiled and kissed the baby on her forehead, and Riskkaf continued chattering on to her about who he was and all the wonderful things he couldn't wait to show her. While the two happier beings continued to gush over her, the troll watched from a distance, going back to his troubling thoughts from before.

_Jus' what da Loa be doin'? An' what be I roped into wit' dis Nadia?_


	2. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zebodah has an unexpected encounter with the latest addition to his makeshift family.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything World of Warcraft or anything by Blizzard…unfortunately.

Chapter Two: Bonding

Whatever questions there were about the tiny baby who had been officially named Nadia went unanswered for Zebodah. He performed the birthing ritual like he said he would, though wasn’t sure how effective it would be since he wasn’t a trained priest. But eight months went by without the child getting so much as a bad case of hiccups.

Other than the troll gaining a way to effectively keep track of time, he really didn’t see the big deal about this little person. However, Riskkaf and Mial had begun to treat each little thing she did as some sort of great achievement. Every new sound, every new action was greeted with smiles and cheering and kisses and hugs. The whole thing was madness…

Nevertheless, he watched her grow and develop curiously, waiting for _something_ interesting to happen. At least, something more interesting than crawling or babbling, but for now he supposed this was as good as it got.

“You know, you could play with her.”

Zebodah looked over at the delusional bird as though he suggested they go skipping around Shadowmoon setting off fireworks. He and Riskkaf were currently sitting outside Mial’s establishment doing not much of anything, while the draenei came and went doing some chore or greeting a refugee. Nadia crawled around on a blanket in front of them, blowing spit bubbles and fiddling with the toys that had been brought out for her.

“An’ why be I doin’ dat?”

“Why, to bond of course.” He made a grandiose gesture with his hand before turning the page of one of the five books spread out before him.

“What if I don’ wanna ‘bond’?”

Riskkaf chuckled, “You may not want to, but you will. It’s inevitable…I mean look at this face, how can you not fall in love?” He then promptly lifted Nadia from the blanket and held her out to Zebodah, as if he would actually take the child from him. She had just wriggled her way over to the arakkoa and his books, trying to turn one of their pages in imitation. Now, she was squealing and grinning at the troll, reaching out her small, round hands.

“I be good…” A few strands of drool dribbled from the baby’s smiling mouth, and the shaman scrunched up his nose, “Eww.”

“Come now, the slobbering isn’t permanent. Granted, it isn’t entirely pleasant, but she’s just teething.”

Ah, yes. Zebodah had forgotten about the teething. It had started about two months ago, which is why he was around more than before. Whenever Nadia would reach a checkpoint of development, Mial would make a house call or track him down at the tavern with a list full of questions. He wouldn’t have minded answering, if she didn’t insist he be around to ‘observe her’, as she so delicately put it. Now, he had literally been dubbed ‘co-guardian’ by Mial, who further insisted that he and Riskkaf should fill in the role of ‘father figure’.

Why the arakkoa couldn’t do it himself, Zebodah didn’t know, and didn’t bother to ask. This gave him something to do with his time besides drinking, fighting, or sleeping. Those things were starting to get old. Except for drinking, that would never get old, but even he could only handle so much booze.

And so, he begrudgingly accepted the role assigned to him. To be perfectly honest, it hadn’t been that bad since the kid had been boring for the most part. Babies didn’t really do much…or so he thought.

Zebodah watched Riskkaf lower Nadia back to the ground and release her. Apparently she still had her sights on the troll, because she immediately began crawling over to him, looking up at him right in the eye while babbling and squealing nonsense. He could see tiny dots of pearly white in her smile and sighed.

Then she got teeth.

And with her teeth came the drooling and licking and nibbling – oh, the nibbling! It’s like the kid knew what were in her mouth were teeth! And she would test them out on everything: toys, clothing, books, and furniture. Furniture, for Loa’s sake!

Nadia was halfway to him by now, leaving a trail of spit behind her, and a dark expression passed over Zebodah’s face. At the inward mention of the Loa, he’d reminded himself of an incident from about a week ago. He had been watching the girl with Riskkaf, when the two had been going through some of the Darkspear’s things. The arakkoa had originally come over to borrow some parchment, but had gotten distracted by all the effigies and items of troll culture in his home. He’d explained that he’d made them shortly after his arrival to Shattrath; mostly for ritual but truly as a way to keep him grounded to his past and faith. After answering what was probably Riskkaf’s hundredth question, Zebodah heard a rather high-pitched whine sound out from behind him. He looked over his shoulder, then down, and nearly choked on the words he’d been speaking.

Nadia – the crossbred infant who’d been technically introduced by Dambala – had been chewing happily on a fetish he’d made specifically for that Loa. The shaman had taken it away immediately, and the child had cried, but he was too shaken to really notice. There was no damage, just a bit of saliva, however that wasn’t what had bothered him then and it certainly wasn’t what bothered him now.

It couldn’t have been coincidence, it just couldn’t. Out of the dozens of fetishes carefully stowed away in a case in his home, she had pulled out that one. The incident had been plaguing his mind ever since it happened. What could an extremely powerful Loa possibly want with Nadia? Nothing out of the ordinary or spirit related had happened yet, so there was no immediate cause for concern. But Zebodah had been keeping a close eye on her just in case.

A slight tug on his pant leg caused the troll to put his thoughts on hold and look down. The child in question looked back up at him with a drooling smile and tugged again on his clothes. He raised a hairless brow in response, wondering what she was doing now. It apparently wasn’t the reaction Nadia was hoping for, because she tugged again, harder this time, and reached her other tiny hand up to him.

“She wants to be held,” Riskkaf stated without looking up from his tomes. A look of shock and panic crossed over Zebodah’s face as he kept staring down at the small baby who wanted to be picked up. Seconds went by, and Nadia began to fuss when her nonverbal request went unfulfilled. The arakkoa glanced up, “She’ll start to cry if you don’t.”

“Um…” Zebodah clenched and unclenched his fists nervously, causing something to click in the back of Riskkaf’s mind. The arakkoa sat up suddenly and looked right at the troll. He made a cawing noise and smirked almost mockingly.

“You haven’t held her yet, have you?”

The troll scowled at no one in particular as his companion began to cackle. He actually hadn’t held her yet in the eight months she’d been alive. Whenever the opportunity came up, he sort of just dodged it, letting her be passed to someone else much more willing or qualified.

However, he didn’t enjoy being laughed at and didn’t want to give Riskkaf the satisfaction of being right. Zebodah looked back down at the baby, who was now sitting on her bum and reaching up to him with both hands. He then looked back at the arakkoa, who still chuckled and watched the troll pair curiously, before swiftly bending down to pick up Nadia. She shrieked in delight as he held her at eye level and kicked her feet excitedly.

Now that she was closer, the shaman took a better look at her. He was quite young himself, only about 20 years of age, and didn’t have much experience with children, so seeing her develop had been a welcome variation to the usual mundane happenings of Shattrath. She had changed much these past many months, as babies tended to do. Her already crazy hair had gotten longer and even wilder, spiraling out in all sorts of curls and waves. Her ears were now an appropriate length for an infant of her size, and her eyes, now wide open with a curious and intelligent glint, were a kaleidoscopic hazel, with all sorts of hues of amber, green, and gold.

“I guess ya ain’t too hopeless lookin’,” Zebodah mumbled to himself as Nadia reached out as if to touch his face and blew happy spit bubbles between her –. His eyes widened in surprise as he brought the baby’s face closer to his own till their noses were practically touching, “When did dese happen?”

“When did what happen?” Mial asked as she walked over carrying a full basket of freshly cleaned and damp laundry. She had been going to hang them to dry when she overheard the troll’s question.

“Dese,” he responded while shifting his hold on her and pointing a thick finger at the small ivory set of tusks that poked out from behind Nadia’s bottom lip.

“About two weeks ago, when you and Riskkaf left for Zangarmarsh.” Mial had gone back to her chore and began to hang the wet sheets, losing interest on the topic, “They came in pretty quickly, but she didn’t cry much.”

Zebodah opened his mouth to retort when Nadia grasped one of his own, much larger tusks with her tiny hands. The feeling of them being touched had become unfamiliar and the sudden contact caused him to freeze. He gaped as he watched her examine them with wide eyes, grasping at them with pudgy little fingers. She would occasionally let out a curious gargle or baby noise of some sort.

Then – quick as lightning – Nadia let out a squeal and bit it.

He reacted immediately and let out an unkind snarl, eyes narrowing into a glare: that was _not_ what tusks were for. The infant let go instantly, and looked into his eyes with a confused expression. Nadia sniffled and her lower lip began to quiver: what had she done wrong?

Zebodah sighed despite himself. A voice in the back of his head began to scold him: she had just been trying to figure her new tusks out. From what he could remember from his younger years, this is something troll babes did. Once they began tusking, they would bite everything and but them against anything they could get their grubby hands on. The shaman also remembered how many of the older trolls would help them figure out their tusks, usually by rubbing their own against the child’s smaller ones while humming or growling in approval.

He looked back at the baby in his hands, who had fresh tears forming in her eyes as she sat in his lap. Mostly to keep her from crying (and partially because he was the only troll and therefore his duty) he gently brought her up to his face again with one hand supporting her under her bum and the other on her back and, with careful maneuvering of his tusks, began to rub them against hers.

Nadia’s whimpers stopped and her mouth hung open for a split second before her tiny, full lips broke into a toothy grin, and she let out a pleased shriek. She obviously enjoyed the feeling, and pressed her face closer to his tusk as Zebodah continued the soothing back and forth motion.

The vibrations caused by the friction sent a shiver to go down his spine and caused his stomach to quiver nostalgically. This action brought reminisces for Zebodah of his own youth, when he was just a few years old and testing out his own tusks. He felt his eyes close in innocent pleasure as he let his barriers fall and simply enjoyed this moment. It didn’t last for long, however…

“Aww, look Mial, they’re bonding!”

“Oh, my goodness, you’re so good with her!”

The troll’s eyes snapped open, and he found both Mial and Riskkaf gawking at him with stupid grins on their faces. The draenei woman had her hands clasped together and held them close to her heart, while Riskkaf had a crooked smile and knowing look in his eye.

Zebodah scowled and stopped his action immediately, “I ain’t bondin’! I’m just…”

“Bonding?” Riskkaf finished the statement with a snicker.

“Shut up,” he snarled before looking back at Nadia. She was still close enough to his face to look her in the eye. Green regarded hazel as both watched to see what the other would do first.

The kid was first to break, but Zebodah ultimately lost. Nadia burst into a fit of giggles and grabbed his nose with both tiny hands. He groaned loudly as Mial and Riskkaf tried to contain their laughter but failed. Zebodah’s supposedly unfeeling heart fluttered slightly as he registered the moment and the look of adoration in Nadia’s eye that was meant for him. It seemed that this little baby had gotten attached to him.

And maybe, just maybe, he had gotten a little attached to her as well.

But it would not last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading everyone! Expect another update within the next week or two, and in the meantime feel free to leave a comment, follow the story, or check out our other tale on our profile! Thanks again!


End file.
